The Other Times Harry Potter Escaped
by Emilee Crumby
Summary: Magical or not, flu season is flu season. At least Harry's got an awesome immune system on his side.  For now... Sick! fic involving nearly all the HP characters.
1. Chapter 1

Very slightly AU but only because I may have neglected to fact check a couple of things.

No Disclaimer: I own everything. Go ahead and sue me; you won't get much.

**HPHPHPHP**

**Chapter 1- Roommates**

Harry rolled over and pressed his pillow across his face. The snoring shook the rafters. Across the dormitory Seamus was looking over Neville's shoulder at their Charms book.

"I swear, there's nothing in there about silencing," Neville protested shaking his head.

"I know my mum's used it before," countered Seamus, pulling the book away from Neville.

"Well, idiot, that doesn't mean they're going to put it in a first year textbook, does it?" Dean growled from his bed, clasping his hand to his ears.

There was a sudden snort from Ron's bed and he rolled over groggily.

"Do you all mind? I'm trying to sleep here."

"Oh _you're_ trying to sleep," Dean rose with a fist balled a his side.

"Dean, cool it," Harry piped in. "Sorry Ron, it's just your snoring is really bad tonight."

Ron snuffled and rubbed his nose. "Well I can't help that I've got a cold, now can I? Would it kill you all to cut me a bit of slack? Trust me, when you get it, you'll see it's worse on my end."

Dean's eyebrows shot up as he glanced across the room at Seamus and Neville.

Three days later Harry piled his spare robes and an extra quilt on top of the pillow over his head. Still the snoring sounds came in from all sides. He growled to himself and rose, pulling a blanket from his bed. He tiptoed through the minefield of used tissues and headed down to the common room.

A lamp illuminated Hermione, paging excitedly through a book from a fireside armchair. Harry took the one across.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked, without looking up from the page.

"Not over the the sound of all that horrid snoring. I'm sure I'm the only one in Gryffindor Tower who hasn't gotten this bloody cold."

"Well aren't you the lucky one?"

Harry snorted and pulled the thin blanket over his head, shivering slightly in the cold air of the common room. He chose not to reply.

**Chapter 2- Hagrid**

The warm spring breeze rustled the grass as Ron, Hermione, and Harry trotted towards Hagrid's cottage. Suddenly Ron froze.

"Oy mate," he grabbed Harry's arm. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Harry asked curiously. Beside him, Hermione also shook her head.

"Wait," Ron instructed.

The trio stood in silence for a moment before there came, what seemed to be a muffled explosion in the distance.

"It sounds like thunder," Harry commented.

"But there isn't a cloud in the sky," Hermione pointed out.

They remained frozen, for a moment, in wait for the sound to repeat. But there was nothing. So, with unspoken agreement, the three began again to walk, albeit a bit more cautiously.

When they weren't more than a five yards from Hagrid's the sound repeated. Only now it was clearly very near, and quite petrifying in its volume.

"It's in Hagrid's house," quaked Ron. "There's something in there."

"We should go get help," Hermione said. No sooner had the statement been made than Harry had taken off running, wand extended, to his friend's aid.

He pushed the door right open, without a knock and then stopped short. Hagrid was sitting beside the fire, feet up and, besides being a bit pale, in no obvious danger. He turned a startled eye to Harry's intrusion.

"Hagrid," the boy called out. "I'm sorry but, we heard something. Is everything all right?"

Before the groundskeeper had a chance to answer Ron and Hermione burst in.

"Harry," she exclaimed, panting. "Why must you always insist on running towards danger?"

Ron wheezed. "You know, it doesn't actually look that dangerous. I mean, except that it's got to be a hundred degrees in here." He vented out the front of his cloak and fanned his flushed cheeks. "Hello Hagrid."

"Hello Ron, Hermione. Now what's this about danger?"

"We heard an explosion," Harry explained. He glanced around him as though expecting to see a troll pop out of the cupboard.

Hagrid furrowed his enormous brow.

"I haven't… heard… heard-" his breath began to catch and he threw his head forward in a monstrous sneeze, the force of which nearly pushed the children back out the door. The shutters trembled, a pile of dirty dishes came tumbling onto the ground, and Fang howled. Hermione glanced knowingly at Ron.

"Erm, bless you?" said Harry uncertainly.

Hagrid snuffled loudly and pressed a handkerchief the size of a Volkswagen to his nose. "I beg your pardon. I've got a devil of a head cold."

"Ah yes, that's been going around," Hermione said perceptively. "Have you got a fever?"

"Naw," Hagrid waved off the question. "Nothin' really but the sneezes. Although you kids should probably not be around me. I don't want you lot getting sick."

Hermione nodded and stepped towards the door.

"Feel better, Hagrid," Ron said as he followed.

Harry lingered. "You two go on back. I think I'll stay a bit."

"Now I'm not kidding ya, Harry. You don't want this," Hagrid snuffled.

Harry shrugged. "I'm pretty resistant to these thing, actually. I don't usually get what's 'going around.'"

Hagrid looked at him searchingly. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. Now can I make you some tea?"

Before he was able to answer Hagrid reeled back with another explosive sneeze. With this, Harry was thrown back against the cupboard. He tried not wince as he cracked his head and stinging tears filled his eyes.

He waved off Hagrid's profuse apologies as he lifted the kettle and surreptitiously rubbed the knot forming behind his ear.

**HPHPHPHPHP**

Been writing tons of stories lately but I usually end up overthinking and not putting them up. Here's my attempt to break this habit. If you like it please tell me… I definitely need motivation. If you don't like it… well there's a good chance I'll neglect this story like the others.


	2. Chapter 2

**Year 3's Company**

"H'nxxh!" Hermione pinched her nose in a tightly controlled sneeze. Her other hand didn't break from taking notes.

Ron sniffled and passed his box of tissues to Harry who passed them onward to Hermione. The dungeon was bitterly cold on the best days. Today though, it was positively miserable.

Ron rested a hand on his head, staring idly at the curls of smoke coming from Snape's cauldron. The way they twisted so delicately was like a silky smooth dance ending in puffs of smoky dust. These thoughts worked their way from Ron's mind through the end of his freckled nose and his dropped his head forward in a loud, "Hutchoo!"

He sniffled unabashedly and reached for the tissues Harry had just passed back to him. He held the tissue to his face and closed his eyes for a long honking blow. When he opened them again, he jumped directly back at the sight of Snape's eyes only inches from his own.

"Mr. Weasely why are you very intent on disrupting today's lecture?"

"I can't help it," he proclaimed indignantly. "I'm sick."

"And so you thought it beneath you to take Pepperup? Perhaps you disapprove of all potions?"

"Madam Pompfrey's run out of it sir. Too many people need it. _Someone_ needs to make some more."

Snape reacted to the words like a slap. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your insolence," he snapped. "As though I have nothing better to do than produce medical supplies." This he mumbled under his breath.

"H'nxxh!" Hermione sneezed again and Snape whipped around to stare at her.

"You too, Miss Granger? You also insist on infecting the entire class?"

"I'm sorry Professor," she whispered through a sore throat. "I didn't want to miss today's lesson. I've always been interested in-"

"Stop it," Snape commanded with a hand. "I'm in no mood for your brown-nosing today. Or should I say, red-nosing?" He smirked at his own joke as he walked back to the front of the classroom.

"Although," he said stopping to turn back around. "It is interesting to me how the two of you seemed to be sharing this cold. Perhaps I should alert your Professor McGonagall to the germ spreading going on in the Gryffindor common room."

Ron scowled while Hermione blushed.

Snape smacked his hand sharply down beside Harry's notes, causing the boy to jump. "What about you, Mr. Potter? Are you also feeling _under the weather_?"

"No Professor," Harry answered quietly. "I'm alright."

"Pity," Snape let the word roll off his tongue. "I guess three _is _a crowd."

**The Godfather**

Harry pulled the collar of his mackintosh more tightly around his neck as he waited impatiently to enter Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The entryway seemed to appear intolerably slowly on this rainy day. When it was finally wide enough for him, Harry squeezed through, dripping water across the threshold in the process.

"Sirius!" he called out from the foyer. It was unusual for his godfather not to be waiting at the door. "Sirius, I'm here."

"Must you drip everywhere?" Kreacher's voice was low and nasally as he appeared across the room.

"Make yourself useful and bring me a towel, why don't you?" Harry replied, pulling off his sodden wellies.

Kreacher ignored the request, stretching his twisted body against a doorframe.

"Solid marble, that floor. But you don't care a bit, do you? Filthy brat…"

"Shut up Kreacher," Harry snapped. "Where's Sirius?"

Kreacher sniffed. "Master Sirius has been in the kitchen all day. Sick as a dog, he is, but still insisting on cooking Harry Potter's dinner." The name came out almost as a swear word.

Harry looked up in surprise. Sirius was ill?

Before taking the chance to contemplate this, Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of his godfather.

"Harry, I didn't hear you come in," Sirius smiled warmly as he moved toward and embraced the boy. "Good god, you're soaked to the bone. Kreacher, bring a towel."

The shortly stated command was returned with an angry _pop_ as the house elf disappeared.

"Hello Sirius," Harry returned the greeting just as warmly. He briefly studied his godfather's worn features. There was a definite shadow beneath his eyes. Only faintly reminiscent of the first days after his escape from Azkaban.

"Kreacher says you're ill?" Harry asked concernedly.

Sirius waved off the question. "Oh don't listen to that blithering idiot. I'm fine. Now come in, sit by the fire. You must be freezing."

Harry couldn't deny the accusation and was eagerly hurried to the side of a roaring fire. Sirius exuberantly conjured up a pot of tea and held a steaming mug out to his godson. Just as he was handing off the cup, he froze. Harry, sensing what threatened, hastily took the cup as Sirius exploded to his side in a volley of quick sneezes.

"Bless you," Harry said with a hint of worry. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Before Sirius could answer, Kreacher reappeared holding a towel and a fresh handkerchief. Sirius took both, passing the towel off to Harry and bringing the handkerchief to his nose as he said gruffly, "Would it kill you to dust in here once in a while?"

Kreacher bowed slightly then, swearing to himself, disappeared again. Sirius poured himself a cup of tea before sitting beside Harry with a fatherly smile.

"Now Harry, tell me about school."

"School?" Harry was incredulous. "School is school. I'm sure you have many more interesting things to tell about the Order."

Sirius sighed. "Please, let's just have one afternoon of normalcy. Just be a teenager for a moment. I made dinner, you talk about classes, and we'll go on pretending the Dark Lord didn't rise again."

"Sorry," Harry bowed his head. Then he perked up. "You actually cooked?"

Sirius smiled proudly. "You know, it was your mother's recipe. A very hearty beef stew, perfect for today's weather."

"My mother," Harry whispered.

"When you were six months old it was the wettest winter in years," Sirius coughed lightly into the back of his hand and continued. "I was snowed in for a week at your parents' house. Your mother made an enormous pot of this stew and we ate nothing else for five days. Well except for you. I believe you ate strained beets."

Harry laughed as he watched his godfather reminisce. "I loved it so much that she gave me the recipe. That was before…"

He trailed off, staring at nothing.

"It's a muggle recipe, you know. So please forgive me if it comes out horribly. This was my first time peeling a potato by hand…" he trailed off again, grasping desperately at the handkerchief.

He sneezed another five times in succession and once again after a moment of lingering. When he was finished, he blew his nose and quickly rubbed at his temples.

"I do wish you hadn't gone to all the trouble," Harry spoke up. "Clearly you're not feeling well. You might have spent the morning in bed instead of peeling potatoes."

"Dammit Harry, you're going to have one average, boring evening of home cooked food and small talk," Sirius said tiredly. He raised his hand again to his forehead and closed his eyes.

Gently Harry leaned forward and rested his hand atop the older man's. "And you don't think you curled up in bed with stew while I sit beside you and we scan whatever rubbish is playing on the telly is normal?"

Sirius raised his head and looked at Harry with tired eyes. He sighed again. "That does sound nice," he finally consented.

"And utterly normal," Harry insisted, as he followed his godfather upstairs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Detention**

"Professor," called Harry, craning his neck around the dungeon doorway. "Professor, I'm here."

He scarcely dared to hope that Snape had forgotten detention. There was DA training tonight and he hated to put Ron in charge. Not that Ron wasn't fully capable, of course. It was just the thought of missing something so important for something so tedious was nearly unbearable.

"Professor Snape," he called again, making his way through the classroom to the storage closet.

A door slammed behind him and Harry whipped around to see Snape pacing rapidly into the classroom. "Well, why haven't you started yet?" He demanded, in a voice a hair deeper than normal.

"You haven't given me anything to do," Harry said carefully.

Snape turned his eyes towards the corner and waiting, impatiently, for Harry's gaze to meet up. There were piled a stack of cauldrons, easily twice Harry's height and each crusted over with remnants of old, rancid potions.

Harry surveyed the pile before looking back at Snape. The older man now had his eyes closed and was grasping his hooked nose tightly between two fingers. He didn't speak for a moment but then exhaled quickly and growled.

"Well get to it then. I think you've spent enough evenings in the dungeon to know what to do. I shouldn't need to walk you through everything."

With this he walked away. Harry didn't miss the slight tightening in his shoulders as Snape paused in his retreat to pinch again at his nose.

Harry tried to ignore the stinging pain in his knuckles as he reached for a fourth cauldron. These were covered in the remains of, what seemed to be the Liquid Fire potion the second years were learning. Although he tightly wrapped his hands in rags, an occasional fleck would sneak in and scald as though he were placing his hand in hot coals. _I should be learning to fight Voldemort right now_, he thought as a dried speck of potion flew up under his glasses and into his eye.

"Gahh!" He yelped, dropping the cauldron in a loud crash.

Snape came languidly into the room as tears began to stream down Harry's cheeks.

" What's all this noise?" he asked with disinterest.

"That bloody fire potion got in my eye," he complained, before he could stop himself. Surely he didn't need to give Snape the additional gratification. Even through a haze of pain he could see the smirk cross the man's expression.

"Oh come here then," he said patronizingly. "Let me see."

Harry blindly stumbled over as the pain began to radiate across his whole head as though the fire were catching.

He stood, ashamed, as Snape steadied his hand against the boy's face to survey the damage. Harry noticed abruptly, that the hand touching his was very warm and clammy. He watched Snape study him and started to observe that the professor wasn't looking so well himself. The eyes that searched the injury were tired and red, and the long pointy nose was tinged with pink.

Before he could begin to feel any real pity though, Snape spoke again.

"You're fine, Potter. It only barely got you. It'll only smart for a moment longer," his words were those of a parent to a very small, dramatic child.

Harry snapped his head away angrily as he starting to wipe his streaming eyes with the sleeve of his robes.

"These injuries are to be expected when cleaning by hand," Snape continued after clearing his throat; an altogether painful sounding process.

"Then why can't I use magic?" Harry retorted.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Potter, you don't always know what's best." He seemed about to continue but suddenly turned his head and sneezed very tightly into a clenched fist.

Harry was briefly taken aback.

"Er, bless you?" he said uncomfortably.

Snape's cheeks flushed for a moment in what could either be embarrassment or rage, Harry couldn't tell which. Quickly he waved the boy off with a growl.

"Get out of here Potter. I'm in no mood for your whining tonight."

Afraid to have his dismissal retracted Harry quickly fled from the cold dungeon.

Snape sighed and coughed when he was alone again. He pulled a large, gray handkerchief from his robes and blew his nose heartily for a moment. Then he sank into his desk chair, utterly exhausted, and started grading papers.

**Quidditch**

"Madam Hooch you can't be serious?" Harry exclaimed pacing and tugging on his crimson jersey. "Half the team is laid up with the flu. You really don't think that warrants rescheduling?"

"Cho played with a fever of almost 40 degrees last year," Roger Davies pointed out emphatically, rising from his seat as he spoke.

"Calm down Mr. Davies ," Professor McGonagall chided as she looked over Professor Flitwick's shoulder at the rule book.

"I'm afraid compulsory rescheduling is only required when protecting ourselves from Muggle detection or, strangely enough, giant attacks. Otherwise both team captains must agree to postpone a match," Madam Hooch read off.

Davies grinned broadly as he clapped his gloved hands. "It's not happening Potter. Deal with it."

"I'm sorry Mr. Potter," Professor Flitwick said, snapping the book closed and really not sounding at all sorry. "I advise you to prepare your team and alert any alternates you have available."

With a thinly veiled joy, he escorted Davies back towards the locker rooms as Harry turned on Professor McGonagall.

"It's only because he knows they'd lose if all our players were fit," he grumbled. She pursed her lips and Harry thought he could read sympathy in her eyes.

"You may be right Mr. Potter," she said. "But there's really nothing we can do about it."

"Well then what do I do?" Harry moaned with exasperation. "I can't have them all playing sick, can I? I'll be to blame when everyone turns up in the hospital wing with pneumonia."

"I'm sure you'll do what's best," Professor McGonagall said kindly as she ushered the boy back towards the locker room.

Even from the hall Harry could hear spurts of heavy coughing. There was the loud, honking nose blow he knew to be Demelza. With determination he pushed through the door.

The sight, he soon discovered, was even worse than the sounds of illness. Demelza and Kirke were huddled under the same cloak shivering miserably. Peales was holding a sodden handkerchief and Dean Thomas looked about ready to drop. When he entered they each looked up expectantly.

"They won't let us postpone," Harry announced dismally.

"Will we have to forfeit?" Ron gasped. Strangely he had escaped the illness and now stood upright and ready to fly.

"Either that or play short," Harry answered with a shrug.

"That'll at least give us a chance," Dean piped in hopefully.

Harry looked him up and down, from his bloodshot eyes to the way he leaned all his body weight against the lockers. "Surely you're not well enough to play."

"Bet?" he asked, standing more upright.

"Us too," called out Demelza, as she and Kirke tossed off their cloak, the latter coughing discretely.

"We've certainly been through worse, haven't we?" asked Jack, wiping his nose.

"Hey now, listen up," Harry called over what seemed to be the beginnings of a rally. "As much as I'd love to beat that smug grin off of Roger Davies ' face, I don't want anyone here overdoing it." He thought for a moment. "All right then, anyone with a fever over 38 sits out. Sound fair?"

Dean scowled while Jack grinned. Demelza pressed her hand to her own forehead and then compared it with Sloper. Harry watched, already fatigued with the thought of playing short. Ginny approached him with a sunny smile.

"Thank God you and Ron are alright," Harry said to her gratefully.

She laughed, clear and bell-like. "You didn't have to take that hit just now. You know everyone in here would get off their deathbeds for this match."

Harry smiled. "Playing extra positions will be tough but getting some of these guys to sit out is near impossible."

"You're a good Captain."

"Naw," Harry blushed.

Ginny laughed for a moment before turning away and sneezing lightly into her hand. Harry whipped his head around to stare at her with concern.

"Are you sick?"

"Oh I'm just barely coming down with it. I've got a few days before it hits me anyway," she said with a blush.

Harry put his hand on her cool forehead. "You should sit out."

"Harry, I haven't even got a fever."

"But perhaps you could nip this in the bud," he searched her blue eyes worriedly. "Please sit out. Stay warm and dry inside."

"Harry you're being ridiculous."

"Please, Ginny."

She stared into his crinkled green eyes for a minute before sighing. "All right then. I'll sit out."

His face relaxed into a smile. Only then did he notice how tightly he was holding onto her arm. "Oh, sorry," he fumbled.

She chuckled and departed as Ron approached from behind.

"It's not that bad actually," he said, peering at a scrap of parchment in his hand. "We've still got five players if you count Demelza. Her fever is exactly 38 and I swear she'd punch me in the face if she couldn't play. So anyway, five people: her, you, me, Ginny, and Jack."

Harry turned back around sheepishly. "Make that four, mate."

"Four?"

With a guilty grin, Harry clapped his friend on the shoulder. "You, me, Jack and Demelza. And at least we know Demelza's got some spunk in her."


	4. Chapter 4

**Final Installment (Part 1)**

Sunshine poured in the window of the bedroom Ron and Harry were sharing. In The Burrow every room faced sunrise; a neat little charm Mrs. Weasley wouldn't undo no matter how much the twins complained.

"You shouldn't be lazing about in bed all day, anyway," she'd say, usually sending the boys off to do chores and effectively halting all further arguments.

Ordinarily Harry didn't mind waking up early. There was always so much to do and see at The Burrow and he didn't want to miss a thing. Even now, when wedding preparations had sent Mrs. Weasley on a cleaning frenzy, and Fleur was skulking from room to room in pre-wedding jitters ready to bite the head off anyone who looked at her the wrong way, it was still exciting.

Harry stretched out on his twin bed, reaching for his glasses before he opened his eyes. The sunlight hit him with a stinging sharpness and sent a tremble directly down his nose.

"Heh-choo!" he sneezed.

"Brlewihs oogh," Ron said from his own bed, face buried deeply in a pillow.

"Thanks," Harry said with a sniffle. He ran his knuckles down the bridge of his nose, trying to abate the lingering tickle that remained. He sniffled again and noticed a bit of congestion that surely hadn't been there the night before.

Before he had time to fully assess the heaviness of his eyes, the door burst open and Hermione swept in.

"I can't believe you two are still in bed. Ginny and I have been up for hours helping with breakfast," she perched energetically on the edge of Ron's bed.

"Couldn't have brought us any, then?" he mumbled, leaning to the side.

"What do I look like?" she replied indignantly.

Harry sneezed again, this time with a bit of preparation, and managed to bury his face into his pillow.

"Bless you," said Hermione, not looking up from Ron. "If you want breakfast, you'll have to come down and get it."

"I'll just stay here thanks," he said, pulled a blanket further up on his neck.

"Really Ron, could you be any lazier?"

Harry managed to slip out of the room just before he sneezed a third time. Hermione was clearly in an interfering sort of mood and he didn't need to attract her attention this early.

"Bless you, mate," said Fred, passing from the other way. "Oy is Ron still sleeping?"

"Yeah, Hermione's in there trying to wake him now."

"Think this'll help?" he asked, pulling a small, silvery looking bulb from his pocket.

"What's that?" Harry asked, surveying the strange object.

"George just came up with it. We're calling them Rain Drops. Guess what they do?" Without waiting for a reply he snickered and headed onward to the bedroom.

Harry shook his head, glad to be free from the fight that would surely erupt. He headed to the washroom where he surveyed his reflection in the mirror. Besides tired eyes and tousled hair, he thought looked alright. He opened his mouth and tried to stare down his own throat.

"Glands look a bit swollen if you ask me," the mirror wheezed.

"You think?" he asked, dismayed.

"You might just go back off to bed," the mirror answered.

"Can't," Harry shrugged. "Mrs. Weasley's got enough work for twenty people. I can't leave them short."

"Suit yourself," the mirror called after him as he headed down the long, winding staircase to the kitchen.

Downstairs a dripping Ron glared at Fred while Mrs. Weasley bustled back and forth with trays of plump sausage and crispy bacon.

"Beans and toast, Harry?" she asked when she caught sight of him.

"Just tea for now, thanks," he replied, taking a seat between George and Ginny.

"Are you alright, Harry?" she asked in whisper. "You look tired."

"Ron's snoring probably kept him up," George joked loudly. Immediately a piece of toast caught him in the side of the face. "Oh that's nice."

Mrs. Weasley snatched the discarded bread and shot her youngest son a withering stare. "You can't be so hungry if you're just throwing good food away," she said. "Maybe you'd just better start with your chores now."

"Sorry mum," Ron mumbled. Sheepishly he bit into a bit of bacon.

"Heh-choo!" Harry sneezed loudly and suddenly, attracting a few glances and blessings from around the table.

"Thanks," he muttered, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks. He turned away from Ginny's concerned stare. Instead he forced a laugh as Fred and George tossed another Rain Drop back and forth over Ron's head as he cringed.

No sooner had they finished eating then Mrs. Weasely was assigning wedding preparation chores. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were tasked with de-gnoming the garden.

"But Mum, as soon as it rains they'll all run out anyway," Ron had complained before being shot a look of pure ire. Now that they were outside, Harry had to agree with Ron. The wind blew fiercely and the warm air was full of moisture. Threatening clouds lurked behind the treetops. He shivered as a breeze whipped under his collar and then began to work.

Harry's efforts were distracted by the insufferable tickle in his nose, neither mounting into relief nor abating. And now there was the rawness of a sore throat as well. He reached a hand to his mouth for a short, harsh cough, entirely forgetting the gnome he had just lifted. The thing gleefully bit into his nose and Harry yelped as he tugged it off. Flinging the gnomes was much less fun than he remembered.

Hermione watched him, red faced and hurling the gnome angrily. Then she sidled up to Ron who was poking at a fresh nest with the toe of his sneaker.

"Does Harry seem a bit off to you?" she asked in a whisper.

Ron casually glanced over. "You mean, besides the fact that he's screaming at a garden gnome?"

"He looks a bit ill, doesn't he?"

Now Ron looked more carefully.

"Oh I dunno," he said. "He's probably just tired. Harry never gets sick."

"That's true," Hermione admitted dubiously. Just then a swarm of gnomes began to billow out of the next at their feet and, for the next fifteen minutes the flurry of activity distracted her from being concerned.

By the time Mrs. Weasley called them in for lunch the rain had only just started. The black clouds had backed up their threats and in just a few minutes the trio was sopping wet. Ron shook his head briskly and kicked off his boots as he re-entered the Burrow.

"At this rate, I won't be dry at all today," he moaned as Hermione grimly wrung out her hair over the sink.

"Where's Harry?" Mrs. Weasely asked as she held out a plate of sandwiches.

"Here," came a deep voice from the doorway. Harry's hair, which never lay flat, now curled in wet tendrils into his eyes. He struggled not to shiver as he wiped his glasses on the sleeves of his cloak.

Mrs. Weasley had only just furrowed her eyes at the hoarseness of his voice when an ear shattering scream broke from the next room.

"I cannot 'ave rain on my wedding day," Fleur's voice screeched out through the air. Harry was briefly reminded of the veelas at the World Cup whenever Ireland scored a point.

"Don't worry about it, love," Bill's voice was soothing. "We've got an enormous tent and Dad's got a great Drying Spell for the puddles around the door."

Still Fleur's voice rose higher.

"But my 'air!"

"Oh dear," muttered Mrs. Weasley. She handed the sandwiches to Hermione and hurried from the room to assure Fleur that Sleekeazy's Hair Potion was indeed water resistant, and the bride's hair would be nothing short of perfect.

"Sandwich, Harry?" said Ron through a mouthful of bread and cheese.

"Are then any good, then?" Bill asked as he entered. From behind, Fleur could be heard crying into Mrs. Weasleys' shoulder. "I couldn't believe Fred and George offered to make lunch."

Ron spat a hunk of chewed food into his hands. "Fred and George made these?" he asked, terrified.

Rob blushed as Bill and Hermione started to laugh. Harry joined in on the joke while simultaneously closing his eyes and trying to stop the room from spinning. The heat of the fire after the icy rain made him dizzy. Then suddenly his legs buckled and he grabbed the counter to keep from falling.

"Sorry Harry," Hagrid's voice boomed out behind him. He removed his hand from where he had clapped it onto boy's shoulder and used it to steady him. "I thought you heard me come in."

"Hi Hagrid," he grinned, pleased to see his friend. "What are you doing here?"

"Have you got them?" Bill interrupted.

"There all in crates outsides. Where should I put 'em?"

"I think the shed around back should be big enough."

"Well we'll just get to it then. Do you mind Harry?"

Harry eyed the fire longingly. Now that he was accustomed to it, the heat was comforting and sweet. He hated the idea of going back into the monsoon. But how could he say 'no' to Hagrid?

Moments later they were trudging back into the rain towards three large crates stacked at the edge of the property. Each was as large as a Volkswagon and had a strange scratching noise coming from within.

"What are they?" he asked suspiciously, rubbing a hand under his nose. The rain had caused it to run and Harry longed for a handkerchief.

"I'll show you when we get them inside," Hagrid called back into the wind. "Get the door, will ya?"

Hagrid lifted two of the enormous boxes with ease and Harry scurried across the yard to the tiny shed. Dubiously he pulled open the padlock and swung open a wide door. He followed Hagrid into a space nearly the size of the Hogwarts Great Hall. Pigeons cooed in the rafters and the corners were stacked high with hay bales. Hagrid dropped the first two crates and went back for the last.

Harry was headed towards the back corner, where an assortment of engines was piled high, when a noise from the crates caused him to whip around. Leary, he moved closer.

What could Hagrid possibly have stashed in those boxes?

He pressed his eye to a hole in the side of one of the crates but could see nothing. The pressure against the bridge of his nose, however, did set him into a fit of sneezing.

Sneeze after heart-stopping sneezing shook him. As he was just starting to feel dizzy, Hagrid came back.

"Alright there Harry?" he asked, looking concerned.

"I- hechoo, I'm fine. Hetchoo!" Harry tried to answer while turning his face away from Hagrid and burying his nose into the crook of his arm.

Hagrid stood by helplessly while Harry slowly regained control of his nose. After a few lingering sneezes worked their way out, he was finally able to speak again. His face burned red.

"I didn't know you were allergic to hay," Hagrid commented, holding out a handkerchief that Harry gladly took.

"Oh, right," said Harry wiping his nose and looking around the room. "Hay."

There was another thump from behind and they both turned towards the crates. One had started humming.

"Er, what's in the boxes, Hagrid?" Harry asked carefully.

"French Pixies," Hagrid beamed. Harry shuddered at the memory of the Cornish Blue Pixies from their second year Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

"Ya wanna see 'em?" Hagrid asked. He released the latch before Harry could protest.

Instinctively Harry brought his hand to shield his face. But nothing seemed to happen. He slowly opened his eyes to see Hagrid kneeling beside the box talking softly into it.

"Ya don't have to be afraid," he called to Harry. "These are the sweetest things you'll e'er meet."

Feeling foolish, Harry approached and saw a tiny creature perched delicately in the palm of Hagrid's hand. She was the shape of a very slender woman with enormous eyes and hair that curled lightly around her neck. She had gossamer wings that shined like rainbows and seemed to emit a glowing gold.

Harry automatically kneeled beside Hagrid and when she saw him her face broke into an enormous grin and she hopped over to stand on his knee.

"I think she likes you," Hagrid laughed and reached into the back of the crate. "Let me just put some sugar out for 'em, that's all they eat you know, and then we can head back inside before ya start sneezin' again."

Harry nodded dumbly, still transfixed by the pixie on his knee. Her grin faded after a moment and she cocked her head, appearing confused. She made a gesture that he understood to mean she wanted to come closer. He brought his hand forward and she jumped lightly into it. When he brought her close to his face she frowned and reached a tiny hand out to stroke his cheek. Her touch was cool and refreshing and it was only then that Harry realized how warm he felt.

"Yeh ready to go then?" Hagrid called out, breaking Harry from his trance.

"Oh yeah," Harry jerked back. He smiled at the pixie before putting her back into the box with the others. Her wide, sympathetic eyes followed him as he headed back into the rain with Hagrid.

HPHPHPHP

A/N: I had intended for the final installment to be only one chapter but it was getting pretty long. We'll see how much longer it goes after this…


	5. Chapter 5

**Final Installment (Part 2)**

By the time they were back into the house Harry was sneezing again. He had struggled to hold off the fit until he was out of earshot of Hagrid but the irritation had finally overwhelmed him. He sneezed a fourth time as he followed Hagrid back into the Burrow.

"Goodness Harry, are you all right?" asked Ginny when she saw him. The look on her face told Harry he probably looked as bad as he felt. Still the shame of being caught unwell was greater. He was horrified to see all the Weasley children and Hermione staring at him as he sneezed again.

"He's allergic to hay," Hagrid explained, pulled off his enormous coat.

"But he's been sneezing all morning," Ginny replied, confused.

"Have you then, Harry?" Hagrid asked, searching the boy's eyes.

"Don't let Mum catch wind of you being sick or she'll chain you to the bed," George joked.

"Seriously mate," Fred added. "Last time I was sick she nursed me within an inch of my life. I'm lucky to have survived."

Harry shrugged and tried to smile as he face burned with shame. "It's nothing," he mumbled. "I'm fine."

No one appeared to believe him.

Quickly Hagrid clapped his hands together. "So did I see sandwiches?" he asked loudly, effectively diverting attention from Harry.

Harry shot him a grateful look and darted from the room to blow his nose. After a third attempt he sighed with frustration. It seemed that, no matter how much he tried, he couldn't manage to clear his sinuses. He thought back to last time he felt like this, long before Hogwarts. He had managed to sneak into his aunt and uncle's bathroom and swipe a bit of children's cold medicine normally reserved for Dudley. He had taken enough to put himself to sleep and the effect had been absolute bliss.

Harry doubted whether Mrs. Weasley kept any Muggle medicines in the house. Surely he could ask her. Perhaps he could convince her that he wasn't very unwell and she wouldn't have to worry. But then, the coddling the twins had described didn't actually sound that bad.

Harry drowsily debated in his mind as he idled into the next room. There he found Mrs. Weasley, again alone and muttering to herself while darning Fleur's veil.

"I don't see _her_ mother offering to help at all. It's not as though I couldn't use it either. But oh no, she insisted on her spa weekend. 'Zee muzzer of zee bride must look good.' Oh Harry," Mrs. Weasley jerked up when she saw the boy. "I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there."

Her face was turning as pink as one of her children and Harry, courteously, decided to pretend he hadn't heard her rant. His brain raced as he tried to come up with something to say. "I, er- I finished lunch. What else can I help with?"

Instantly Mrs. Weasley's eyes filled with tears. "You darling boy," she blubbered. "Aren't you just the sweetest…" She wiped her eyes with the corner of the veil and her tone changed. "None of mine are offering to help. I swear, every time I turn around they skived off to play Gobstones or something."

As she spoke she pulled out a jar labeled _Gobbler's Silverware Polish: for non-silver wares_ and steered Harry over to a large case of flatware.

He tried not to cough as she thanked him and disappeared in a blur of nerves and gratitude.

**HPHPHPHP**

By the time Harry had finished polishing his head was throbbing. His shoulders were tight from bending over the dishes and he had given up on trying to control the shivers that assaulted his thin form.

Although he was pleased that the task had allowed him to hide, he also found himself growing lonely by the late afternoon. He put away the last of the silverware and then headed back to the kitchen to see what Ron and Hermione were up to.

"I don't understand why we have to do this by hand," Ron bellowed, following with a string of swear words. With a groan of frustration he threw down a crumpled ball of shiny pink paper.

"The effect is so much prettier," Ginny said. She lifted the delicate flower she had crafted to show her surly brother.

"Good one, Ginny," Hermione complimented.

She had worked a charm to make them twinkle and a pile of shimmering flowers sat by her side. Behind her the twins had taken their own pile and were trying to bewitch them to make rude noises when they lit up.

"Hello Harry," called George when he noticed the boy lurking in the doorway. "Where have you been all afternoon?"

"Polishing silver," Harry answered, slumping into a chair near the fire. "Nice flower, Ron."

Ron scowled and threw another piece of paper to the ground. He then brightened as there was a knock on the door and Remus Lupin stepped into the crowded kitchen.

"Professor Lupin," Hermione smiled at the tired looking man as he burst in from the rain. "What are you doing here?"

"I have to drop something off for Arthur," he smiled and pulled off his frayed, wet coat. "Alright Ron, Harry?"

Ron smiled back in greeting but Harry was too busy pinching his nose. He was determined not to sneeze again. Lupin appeared not to notice as he grinned at the rest of the room.

"Dad's not home yet," Ginny told him. "Why don't you warm up by the fire a bit?"

"That sounds wonderful," he replied, sinking into a snoring armchair. "How have you all been?"

While Ron began to relate the horrors of wedding preparation, the twins leaned over behind Harry.

"You know, if you try to hold it back like that, your head might explode," Fred teased in a whisper.

Harry dropped his hand and scowled. The unwanted attention was here now; he may as well indulge the irritating tickle that plagued him.

"Herchoo, hehhchoo, he-hehchoo," he sneezed into his lap while the twins began to place bets on the length of the fit.

"I'd say he'll stop after eight," said Fred.

"No way," replied George. "Look at his eyes. He's got at least ten in him."

"A Knut on that then," Fred replied and they shook hands.

"Really? Could you please be more insensitive?" Ginny snarled at them.

Harry sneezed a seventh time and felt a first hint of relief. This was quickly overwhelmed by embarrassment when he realized the whole room was staring at him.

"Bless you," said Lupin kindly.

"Thank you," he mumbled.

"Come on Harry, that can't be it," Fred protested. "I know there's one more."

Harry forced a laugh and bit his tongue. Unfortunately, Fred was right.

"Sorry, no" he lied and stood up. "I'm going for another sandwich. Anyone want one?"

Without waiting for a response he fled the room. They heard the echo of another sneeze from the hallway.

"He's not well is?" asked Lupin, looking back at the group while Fred smirked and followed George out of the room to collect his money.

"We've had our suspicions," replied Hermione. "Not that he'll admit to anything, mind you."

Lupin laughed. "Just like his father then."

"We were thinking about sending Mum after him," Ginny from where she sat beside Ron.

"Yeah but he'd never forgive us I'm sure," he said thoughtfully. "I can't begin to guess why he's so embarrassed."

Ginny and Hermione stared at him incredulously before the latter spoke up.

"Can't you then? Do you think the Dursleys ever looked after him when he was sick?"

Realization dawned and Ron looked embarrassed.

"I'm sure he just doesn't want to be a bother," Lupin said quietly.

Ron barked a laugh. "Well that's just stupid. There's nothing Mum loves more than nursing people. She'll be miserable when she realized how many opportunities she's missed already."

"Have some tact about, will you?" Ginny said, slowly rising. "I'll go talk to him. Surely you'll just mortify him even more."

She strode out of the room leaving Ron with his mouth agape. "I can have tact," he said defensively.

"And I'm sure you will one day," Hermione said smoothly, refilling Lupin's tea.


	6. Chapter 6

So very sorry for the lengthy delay. I've been compulsively second-guessing myself on the ending. Hopefully it's what you guys deserve. You're all quite masterful at guilt trips by the way.

**HPHPHPHPHP**

When Ginny finally caught up to Harry he was leaning against the railing on the back porch of the Burrow. The rain fell heavily in the dark and he stared blindly out at it. He breathed unevenly through his mouth sending cloudy puffs of air into the icy night.

"You stay out here in the rain too long and you might catch cold," Ginny commented as she went to stand next to him.

"Funny," Harry replied drily.

"No one said it was easy being the Chosen One," she answered.

Harry didn't reply, only gave a wry smile as he continued to stare into the garden.

Ginny went on.

"I don't know why you're so ashamed to admit you're sick. Is mortal illness is beneath you or something?"

Harry's eyes flashed as he turned on her.

"You know it's not like that," he yelled hoarsely until he caught her grinning. He was forced to smile back at her clever attempts to rile him. A moment later his mouth drooped.

"It's just humiliating," he said sullenly. "I hate being fussed over."

"I would have thought you'd be used to it by now."

At this Harry grimaced. Being considered delicate by all the adults in his life had been a long time source of revulsion for him. He curled his lip as he thought of it. Then his expression turned to one of vacant expectation and he turned away from her in an explosive sneeze that bent him at the waist.

Silently, Ginny handed him her handkerchief.

"Thank you," he said through a blush. He took it and faced away from her to blow his nose. As if being thwarted by a simple cold weren't sufficiently humiliating, he was loathe to appear so disgusting in front of Ginny.

She didn't seem at all put off, though, as her brow crinkled with intense concentration. When she spoke again it was as though she were reading his mind.

"We don't think you're helpless or anything," she said quietly. Her voice drifted off and she continued to look thoughtful.

A chill ran down Harry's arms and he shivered while waiting for her to speak again.

Ginny's mouth popped open and closed a few times as she considered her next words. Finally she turned on him with a look of one determined to plow through something uncomfortable.

"You've haven't exactly had it easy, Harry," she said. "I mean, I couldn't imagine growing up the way you did. And even after you got to Hogwarts… it's been one attempt on your life after another."

Harry snorted at this but then coughed for a moment, his shoulders jerking with the motion. His lungs were starting to ache. She waited patiently until he was composed and then continued.

"Do you know what that's been like for us?"

Harry was puzzled and raised his head to look at her. To his horror, Ginny's eyes were bright with tears. Suddenly Harry was incredibly uneasy as well as confused.

When Ginny continued though her voice was even, as she stoically quashed the tremble of emotion in her tone.

"You're really important to all of us," she said squarely. "And not just because you're the _Chosen One _or whatever. You're Ron's best friend. Dumbledore revered you. Mum loves you like a son. I-" her voice finally caught and she looked away.

She studied her hands as they wrapped around the porch's support beam and when she spoke again in was in a whisper.

"It kills all of us that we can't do anything to protect you, Harry. It kills us."

A single tear dropped slowly down her fair cheek and Harry instinctively reached up to wrap an arm around her shoulder, his own discomfort disappearing beneath a wave of pity.

"I never thought of it that way," he murmured.

Ginny brushed off his arm and faced him with a blaze of fire in her eyes.

"Well perhaps you should have done," she snapped. "And I think it's really selfish of you to deprive us of the little help we can offer."

Harry gaped. "Ginny-," he started to protest.

"I don't want to hear it Harry," her words were now loud and angry. "You keeping us out the way you do… it's just cruel."

Harry raised a hand to his brow, now utterly confused. His head was beginning to hurt.

"What can I do?" he asked miserably, both guilty and slightly afraid of the fiery redhead.

Ginny sniffed once and brusquely wiped tears from her cheek.

"You can march yourself up to bed and allow yourself to be taken care of for once in your life," she growled.

Harry nodded rapidly, eager to do anything to halt Ginny's angry tears. Without another word he hurried back across the porch, pausing only once at the doorway, frozen in a moment of suspicious curiosity. Another glare from Ginny sent him again scurrying up to his bedroom.

Alone on the porch Ginny quickly dried her eyes with a mischievous smile that was only partially marred by sadness.

**HPHPHPHPHP**

Harry soon found that, once he embraced the idea of convalescence, it was far less troublesome than he had feared. After Mrs. Weasley berated herself for being blind to his symptoms, she was eager to compensate for negligence with fanatical nursing.

But after an hysterical outbreak from Fleur, and a few choice words from Ginny, she refocused on wedding preparations, contenting herself with only hourly checks on her patient and dispatching bowls of soup and tea to his room in the interim. Harry, for his part, was more than happy to be left alone and, after a generous helping of Fever Draught, drifted into a very restful sort of sleep.

When he awoke, he felt well enough to recognize how ill he had truly been. The new lightness in his head and the coolness of his brow were blissful only in comparison to his former state. By the end of the third day of his cold, he was enjoying visitors.

When Fred and George learned how ill he had truly been they came to apologize for their earlier teasing. Although Harry suspected their remorse was less than sincere (Fred had bat bogey smudged in his hair) he didn't mind at all. He quickly forgave them and accepted their gift of five Rain Drops with a promise to use them carelessly.

As they were showering him with suggestions of ways to attack Ron with their newest gag, Lupin entered through the open bedroom door.

"Molly wants you," he told the twins grimly. "She said something about turning the swans orange. I'd hop to it if I were you, she's practically spitting."

"Just thought they ought to match the groom's hair," George grinned ruefully before following his brother out of the room.

"You look better," Lupin said now, moving to perch on the end of Harry's bed.

"Yeah, I feel loads better," Harry answered. He cleared his throat against the annoying crackle which refuted his claim.

Lupin laughed once. "You know, your father was a liar that way too."

Harry frowned. He was conflicted between the joy of being compared to his father, and the annoying of being called a 'liar.'

"Don't misunderstand," Lupin said with a wave of his hand. "I mean it as a good thing. He was quite stoic, your father. He never let anyone know what was really bothering him. You know, he once played an entire Quidditch match with full on appendicitis."

The young man's tired eyes cast off as he remembered.

"They only way he managed to get the Snitch before the other Seeker was by getting sick on him."

Harry laughed at this before the stress of laughter caused him to cough again. Lupin silently handed him a glass of water.

"If he'd asked for help straight away instead of insisting on playing the game, they would have had him fixed up in no time. But that just wasn't James. He didn't want to let the team down. He ended up in the Hospital Wing for a whole week for that."

Harry thought he could definitely understand that feeling and said so.

"You know," Lupin continued thoughtfully, "That may have been the first thing your mother ever learned to love about him. I seem to remember her visiting him more than once that week."

"She loved him for being sick?" Harry asked.

"She loved that he was willing to ignore his own discomfort for the sake of others. It was a side of him we didn't see very often. Suffering silently… well, doing anything silently wasn't really James' style."

"So they started dating then?"

Harry was beginning to feel tired again but struggled to keep his eyes open as Lupin related the story of his parents' courtship. Soon, though, his eyes began to feel heavy and he contented himself with listening behind closed lids. The next thing he knew it was dark and Lupin was gone.

**HPHPHPHPHP**

Shortly after he awoke in the darkness, Ron and Hermione appeared, the former carrying a large cardboard box in his arms.

"Good news, mate," Ron declared. "Mum says you're well enough to help make paper flowers."

He flicked on a light and grinned sardonically at his friend.

"You'll like this Harry," said Hermione oblivious to Ron's sarcasm. She plucked a piece of lavender colored paper and began to intricately fold it, her fingers moving so quickly that Harry could hardly see through their blur.

"And then you twist the base here," she said, demonstrating. "And voila, a beautiful flower. You can do that, right?"

Harry stared at her for a moment before throwing an arm dramatically over his forehead.

"You know I'd love to help Hermione, my head just aches so much."

Hermione gave him a look of concern while Ron sniggered behind her. She whipped around on him.

"Why are you laughing, Ron? Y_ou_ have to help either way."

"Oh but, you know," Ron faked a cough as he sunk down onto the edge of the bed. "I think I might be coming down with what Harry has."

"Nice try," she said dumping a pile of papers into his lap. "Get started."

"Oh Hermione," he said, starting to fold a new paper. "How about this new design, Fred showed me?"

A moment later he produced a piece of origami that was most definitely _not_ a flower.

Hermione blushed.

"Ron!" she hissed.

"What?" he asked innocently. "It's a cat o' nine tails."

Harry was laughing so hard he didn't hear Ginny enter.

"Oh," she gasped, stopping short in the doorway and nearly spilling the tray of soup she held. "I didn't realize you were all in here."

"Do you want to help make flowers, Ginny?" Hermione asked eagerly.

Ginny glanced at the box of papers and frowned. "Er, no thanks. I mean, I told Mum I'd help with dinner. I just thought I'd bring Harry some soup."

"Thanks," Harry said, trying to pull himself up to a more dignified position in bed.

Ginny crossed the room and placed the tray on the bedside table. She murmured to Harry under the sound of Ron and Hermione arguing.

"Sorry I haven't been up to see you. It's been such a madhouse downstairs."

"It's alright," Harry said through a blush. Secretly he thought it was probably better that Ginny hadn't seen the sniveling mess he had been the last two days. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to help."

"Well maybe you should be," she smiled impishly. "Then we'd have made eight thousand hand dipped strawberries by now instead of a mere seven thousand, nine-hundred and fifty."

Harry smiled back and Ginny's voice dropped another few decibels.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Harry," she said gently. She rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly.

Harry struggled to reply with something that even came close to expressing his deep gratitude. Before he could open his mouth though, Ron called out.

"Oy Ginny," he said, fighting Hermione back with one hand. "Come look at this cat o'nine tails I made."

Ginny smiled again without looking at her brother.

"Have fun with that Harry," she called over her shoulder as she chuckled and left.

It took several "flowers" being thrown at his face before Harry could bring his attention back into the room and away from the doorway where she last stood.

**HPHPHPHP**

Thanks for reviews. Sorry the ending is short but I'll likely do another HP story at some point. As always, requests for future fics would be awesome.


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